


Picking Fruit

by ymdaith



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Smut, PWP, Short & Sweet, non-linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 20:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20588708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymdaith/pseuds/ymdaith
Summary: a collection of small, sweet moments





	Picking Fruit

* * *

Your eyelids creak open, bleary and sensitive in the warm morning light. Shades of marmalade paint the blurry walls of the bedroom. With a groan, you roll over to your other side, fumbling with sleepy fingers to tuck the duvet around your head. The sounds of the morning begin to filter in, small birds and rustling sheets, keeping you from completely drifting back to sleep. Yet you still lightly doze, hovering in between worlds; images of your grandparent’s garden overlay the awareness of your body in a fluffy bed. You are trying to find a very important rose, it’s crucial you find it, but it’s not where you remember and you don’t want to upset anyone, and why won’t your arms reach up high enough to look through the bushes? The bright skies are turning grey and falling down towards you, so very close. Where…

“Shh…” whispers through the trees to pull you closer to your body in the bed. The feather light touch of a thumb tracing the shell of your ear makes the garden fall away, the unruly bushes fading, and you sigh with frustration. 

“Hey, come here, come back to Earth…” says a soft morning voice, still rough and in need of a glass of water. You finally manage to open your eyes again, squinting in the brighter light, to find Gary’s face close to yours. His mouth is crooked, a smirk causing a dimple on one side, yet his eyes show a hint of concern as they search your face. “What were you up to?” he adds, continuing to delicately trace his fingers over your ear. 

“Mmm… I was… I was in my nanny’s garden. The rose. There was a rose I couldn’t get to…” you mumble, your mouth moving awkwardly as sleep still clings to your lips. You manage to smile and start brushing your fingers under Gary’s chin, enjoying the sensation of his beard prickling your finger tips. “I think it was the rose my granddad planted for her? But the garden looked different. Huge… hmm… thank you for waking me, it was stressful.”

Gary’s eyes twinkle as the concern lifts away, and he moves his face down to pepper your knuckles with kisses. “Your face was all knotted up in worry, I figured I should pull you out of Dreamland,” he says with a chuckle. “Hey... you’ve never mentioned your grandparents before.”

“Mmm… yeah,” you sigh, shifting so you lay on your back. Gary’s hand comes to rest at the hollow of your throat, the weight comforting. “They’ve been gone for a while… I miss them.”

Gary watches you for a moment longer, then brings his hand up to cradle your cheek. With a sweet smile he whispers, “Well, I know it won’t be the same, but I know my nan will love to give you a tour of her garden.”

* * *

Feet and heels are thundering down the stairs, drunken giggles weaving amongst them. Surprising even yourself with your agility, you leap from the floor and throw yourself onto the couch, quickly assuming a languid pose. Gary manages to grab a cushion and cover himself. You wiggle to lay your head on the cushion and smile sweetly up at him. He draws his rough thumb over your lips, wiping away the sheen of spit. 

Chelsea, Priya, and Bobby shoot into the living room and stumble through quickly, clearly on an important late night mission. They don’t notice you and Gary sitting in the dark on the couch. After a few moments of laying quietly, you hear two large splashes and a shout from the pool. 

Gary lets out a quiet chuckle and moves his hand to the back of your head. Without words your bodies agree to rearrange, quietly shifting in the dark. Kneeling before him once again, you push the cushion away and resume lavishing him with your tongue. 

* * *

“I tried to drink it away…” the girls as sing in unison as the next song picks up. Hairspray and mists hang in the air, hints of apple blossoms floating down as eyeliner is applied, outfits are chosen, and hair is fussed over. The nightly ritual has become second nature, your bodies moving like ships in the night, slipping past each other as you reach into wardrobes and over shoulders and through drawers. 

"I slept it away, I sexed it away..." The music plays from a glowing bluetooth speaker perched somewhere; it never stays in one spot long as it needs to be moved to reach a curling iron or a makeup case. It’s the point in the night where everyone has stopped fighting to pick the next song and it’s just playing, song bleeding into song, and your voices quietly join in on familiar tracks. 

“Well it’s like… craaaanes in the… OH MY GOD, is this Gary’s song?!” followed by peals of laughter. 

* * *

“You remember when you told me about that fruit picking date?” you ask slowly. You feel Gary’s affirmative response as a deep hum within his throat, right next to your ear. Limbs entangled, you are both laying on a sun lounger, cuddled up ridiculously close so you both fit. You are watching the clouds, letting your thoughts and conversations drift along with the breeze. The air still smells earthy from the rainstorm earlier that day.

“I just remembered this time I went blackberry picking on a summer holiday. It was a super hot day and there was a quick storm around lunch time, just pouring for an hour straight, then it cleared up. My best friend and I, we were probably 11 or 12, we ran out into the woods, getting mud up to our knees, and we found a blackberry patch. I remember eating the first few so slowly, savoring the flavor of the rain on them. It was like I could taste the sky. Then we were just cramming them in our mouths, lips bright purple, absolutely gorged! After we finally stopped, we laid in the grass in a sunny spot, filthy and happy and buzzing on those berries. Next thing, we were kissing each other, our first kiss. We probably looked like real monsters.” 

You laugh at the memory, so far away in time but now feeling so close in sensation. The smell of the rain, the warm sun, the lingering taste of strawberries in your mouth, and the sticky closeness of Gary’s comforting body. You crane your head to look at him and see he is grinning at you.

“That’s right disgusting,” he says, still grinning. You open your mouth to protest and suddenly he shoves a strawberry between your teeth. You squeal, mouth red and tart, and press your hands against him, trying to escape, as he chases your mouth with his own. “Come here and give us a snog, you dirty monster! I want one of your wild berry kisses!” he shouts, managing to pin you beneath him on the lounger. Unable to contain yourself, your head falls back and you shriek in delight as Gary presses quick, sloppy kisses to your mouth, his hand reaching into the bowl of strawberries. 

* * *

His shoulder is salty in your mouth, his skin gripped tight between your teeth as you try to muffle your breathing and moans. His hips roil between yours, stirring the waters deep within you, hitting your walls with bursts of light. His hands roughly grip your shoulders, leveraging himself with your body, into your body, against your body. 

He is less conspicuous with his noises, moaning into the pillow beside your ear. Each rumble and gasp that passes his lips makes your body shudder, your hips roll. You want him to fall apart above you, come crashing down like the sky till you are inseparable, one body. There is too much distance between you even as your arms wrap around his broad back to pull him close, closer. Every gap between you is too large and needs to be filled. Filled, like he fills you, fills you again, again, so completely full and then empty and craving and desperate and then oh so happily, deliciously full of him again. An endless rhythm that is both the brightness of sparks behind your eyes and the deep dark hunger within your belly. 

You slip your hand between, slipping through sweat and wetness and bristles, adding tenderly to the motions with the pads of your fingers. The edge is roaring towards you like a storm, heat rushing down your legs and spidering across your chest, lightning strikes and pouring rain. You are both erratic, rhythm disintegrating, hips shuddering, fingers curling. 

Gary’s hips stutter and his breath quavers in a familiar pattern. You know, and the realization that you know, that you have learned how he breathes and moves and grabs right before he shakes apart, that knowledge only makes you grow hotter, wetter, louder. 

Your mouth falls away from his shoulder, leaving behind deep blackberry kisses. You gulp the air, trying to remember to breath through the flood, and your lips find themselves next to Gary’s ear. Quickly, before you are incapable of speaking, you gasp into him, “Come. Here.” 

A rose blooms between your bodies, unfolding and pearlescent with dew.

* * *


End file.
